Plays & Potions (Part 1)

[potentialchosen.livejournal.com]

 

 

Title: Chosen: Episode 1 – “Plays & Potions”
Author: Jack, Alex, & Sophie

Art Work: Magzdilla

Summary: This is part 1 of 3 of the first episode of a monthly ongoing series called CHOSEN. The other two parts can be found at http://potentialchosen.livejournal.com. We would have posted them here but we didn’t want to verwhelm the board right away. This takes place in the Buffy/Angel world but most, if not all, characters and situations are original to us.

Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence, Wacky Repartee
Length: ~ 5,500 words
Disclaimer: Based on the world created by Joss Whedon.

Characters: Original.

Prologue

Thousands of years ago, ancient shamans imbued one girl with the essence of a demon, so that she might have the power to protect humanity against the forces of darkness. This girl became the Slayer. Upon the Slayer’s death, another young girl was called to receive this gift. Again and again, one after the death of another, the slayers were called, forming a chain of girls throughout time, linked by an inherited power and destiny.

So it was told:

Into every generation, a slayer is born. One girl in all the world with the skill and strength to hunt vampires and stop the forces of evil.

The Chosen One.



 

Chapter 1

The auditorium of the Atlas Academy High School bustled with excitement. This afternoon signified the final stage production of the current creative team, who had been in control of the stage department for nearly four years—an Atlas record—and everyone wanted it to be perfect. Actors practiced their lines, sipping their expensive bottled water, and speaking loudly so they could be heard over the construction of the new balcony to be used in act three. Remnants of the stage crew jumped on and off stage, grabbing and throwing props with quick precision. The costume girls sewed and the makeup artists painted beauty onto the faces of the most important roles in the production. Young freshmen bounced back and forth running errands for the sound and lighting team.

Lights flashed, sounds crashed, the whole room smelled of day-old donuts and cold pizza, and amongst all of this commotion stood the student director, Laurel Masterson, surrounded by a group of fawning youngsters eager to do her bidding. The Atlas Academy drama department moved and breathed like a living being, with Laurel Masterson as both its brain and heart.

“Steve!” Laurel shouted, bouncing from place to place, never standing still. “You have to put more feeling into it! Your hatred is supposed to be paramount! Paramount, I said! Learn to listen, will you? And Shelly, if you are going to stand back there doing nothing while everyone else practices, at least try smiling! You’re supposed to be happy with the—What? I don’t care… Make the balcony blue. Yeah, so it will match her dress, got it? Good. Francisco, why aren’t those trees painted yet? Hey, you two, take that ladder out of here—you can do it when nobody is around for you to fall on—Oh don’t pretend like you have never fallen off the ladder, I was there during ‘Death of a Salesmen’ if you remember... And Samantha, will you please go get something for everyone to eat? Something we can pass out… What? Sophie! What?”

Sophie was a small freshman girl. She had been following Laurel around for a few minutes, trying to get her attention. She looked extremely surprised to have been noticed.

“Oh! Oh… Uh, hey Laurel! I was just wondering if… if you wouldn’t mind doing an interview… You know… For the Atlas Times? Sort of like summing up your illustrious… illustrious career for future Atlas gen-generations.? I mean, if you have time, that is… I completely understand if you’re busy and, I’ll just come back later after—”

“After all the praise you’ve given my plays the past year?” Laurel asked with a smile. “I’ll make time for you, okay? How about we sit over here? Kai! Take over!” Kai was a timid looking boy at the far end of the auditorium who stood around doing and saying nothing while simultaneously trying to look as solemn as he possibly could. But the moment he heard his name and Laurel’s command, like an android switched on by its maker, he came to life. He started shouting orders just as Laurel had been.

“Okay, Sophie, what kind of questions do you have for me today?”

Now that she was in interview mode, Sophie’s nervousness melted away and she was all business. In a way, her professionalism reminded Laurel of herself.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind if I start with the most obvious question. Now that your tenure here at the Atlas Academy has come to a close, what are your plans for the future? Will you be attending Julliard? Staying in Los Angeles? Something else?”

“I will be staying in Los Angeles and will be attending UCLA in the fall. It’s funny that you should bring up Julliard—that was my second choice.”

“I assume they offered you a scholarship? You are, after all, the most touted thing to come out of the Atlas Academy drama department in a very long time.”

“They did offer me a scholarship, but I decided to accept UCLA’s invitation to attend their illustrious school for sentimental reasons—mainly, and I’m sure you’ve already asked me about this in another interview now that I think about it, mainly because it was the university that my late mother attended and I would like to follow in her footsteps. As you know, she is still a major inspiration to me and influence on my work.”

“You don’t feel that going to a less prestigious school will affect your chances at becoming a world renowned playwright and director? Not to mention your chances as an actress. I know you always write small parts for yourself—which you do wonderfully in. I honestly don’t know why you don’t star in as well as write and direct these productions.”

“Thank you, but… Well, as to the actress thing... I’m not ashamed to admit that I am not what you’d call… ‘actress material’ even if I’m not so self-conscious that I can’t admit to being on the pretty side—But I just wouldn’t look right on a Broadway play poster in the subway of New York City. I wish it were different, but if I want to break down certain…um, how to say it... sizable barriers, I have to begin the game playing by established rules before I can create my own.”

“Isn’t that cheating?” Sophie asked.

They both laughed perfunctorily.

“And as for UCLA,” Laurel continued. “It has a wonderful drama department and I can’t see myself learning any less just because of some peoples’ bias against state schools. And as for becoming world renowned… Well, I feel that no matter where I decide to attend university that my fate is… I don’t want to sound cliché, but if there is destiny, I hold it in my hands.”

“So what would you say to little freshman girls who have to be written a letter of recommendation by the Senior class president just so they can get a job writing for the school newspaper? Thank you for that by the way.”

“Ha! You’re most definitely welcome. You deserved it.”

“Speaking of which, you have helped a lot of people—”

“Kai!” Laurel shouted, interrupting Sophie’s interview. “Make sure that Paulo there has somebody to hold the ladder, will you? Since he’s so stubborn! Paulo! I don’t want anyone literally breaking their legs on the last performance of the year, okay?”

“You got it, boss!” Kai shouted back.

“Sorry, Sophie,” Laurel said. “You were saying?”

“Not a problem. I can see how busy you are so I’ll skip to the end… If you had any words of advice for those who will be reading this in the first issue of next school year’s Atlas Times, what would it be? As class president, you’ve helped many people get ahead here at the school and I think it would only be right if some of that advice were to be carried on once you have gone onto bigger and better things.”

“Hm… Well, I guess I’d say to find something you like and do it. There are opportunities in every field of art here at Atlas. Don’t make excuses as to why you can’t—that’s a major set back for many young people. If you work hard enough, you can—now I’m going back into the cliché realm, but it really is true—you can accomplish anything you want and nothing can get in your way. Except your own laziness, of course.”

“Of course. Oh! And one more question.”

“Shoot,” Laurel said. It was obvious, though, that she wanted to get back to directing.

“How do you think the play is going to go tonight?”

“Oh, it’s going to be wonderful. I honestly believe that it is the best piece of drama that I have ever, and maybe will ever, produce—which I probably shouldn’t have said what with us drama people being so superstitious. So... Anyway, tell everyone you see to come see it. I can honestly say that it would be a huge mistake to miss this play.”


 

Chapter 2

From the day Laurel took her first tottering step, the current—at least for a few more hours—student head of the Atlas Academy drama department walked like someone who had a purpose. Now was no exception.

Adjusting the strap of her sleek, professional messenger bag (Prada, though Laurel couldn’t have cared less about designer labels) Laurel strode from rehearsal to her Russian Literature class. She took for granted that her professor would not even acknowledge her tardiness with anything but a fleeting glance and an understanding smile.

As Laurel navigated the halls with six years of well-developed habit, her thoughts remained in the auditorium. She continued to mull over last-minute production details.

“If Kai… who got a new hair cut,” she spoke to herself. It was a habit she had picked up a long time ago. “I forgot to say something about his hair! No matter. If Kai can manage to make sure the balcony gets painted, and he remembers to set up the chairs correctly, that means we will only have to… Maybe I should go back and—UGH!”

Laurel was so lost in her words that she nearly screamed in surprise for, as it turned out, she was not the only one whose thoughts were in a place other than hallway 3A of the Atlas Academy linguistics wing. As Laurel turned the corner, the short and plump student director barreled into the taller and lankier Katrina Novikov. Both girls hit the floor with thuds, scattering the books which the gangly and pale skinned girl had been clutching to her chest, and sending Laurel’s bag skidding down the hallway with a soft hiss.

“Watch where you are going, Katrina!” snapped Laurel. She stood and retrieved her bag. “I can’t afford a hospital trip today because of your absentmindedness!”

“Oh, why hello Laurel!” replied Katrina with a distant half-smile. She stood as well. “I was just considering how the movement of sub-atomic particles is controlled by a combination of moon cycles and psychic energy, resulting in a predictable pattern of dryer related sock disappearances. In fact, I was so engrossed that I neglected to remember that I was walking… to… Russian Literature? Right? Speaking of which, did you know that Tolstoy was from the Beta-Sigma star cluster, whose population is asexual and reproduces through molecular division? I think that explains a great deal, really.”

Laurel rolled her eyes. If she could pinpoint a single facet of her cumulative experiences at the Atlas Academy that Laurel Masterson might consider a failure, it was in her duties as class president in regards to Katrina Novikov. Not only did the girl spend most of the day gazing at the walls, but she had never joined any of Atlas’s many (and well funded) extracurricular activities or programs. Laurel couldn’t even remember, over the last four years, seeing Katrina at an after-school event—including the all important College Night. In the rare moments when Katrina could be considered “doing something” she was either updating her prolific, and public, web-site dedicated to inane conspiracy theories or serving ice-cream at the “Flavor Emporium”. The truth of the matter was that Katrina Novikov remained a total mystery to Laurel, and an annoying one at that.

But it was never too late to try again.

“Will you be coming to the drama department’s final performance of the year tonight, Katrina?" Laurel asked. “Even if you have never been involved in the production of anything extracurricular at Atlas, you might as well take advantage of other people’s efforts. I mean, it is the last production of our high school career.”

Katrina didn’t answer for a moment. Instead she examined the ceiling with great interest.

“I would attend,” she said, finally, “but I have to go keep watch in the park for non-corporal manifestations of the recently deceased, both human and insect. Important research for my web-site as well as critical in keeping the poltergeist population under control. Also, I have to work.” The truth of the statement “you can’t win them all” struck Laurel hard, as it often did when she interacted with Katrina Novikov.

“Well,” Laurel said, beaten, “let’s get to class then.”

She bent down and picked up Katrina’s scattered books for her (Laurel knew the other girl would probably forget to do it herself) and handed them over

“Thank you kindly,” Katrina said, the half-smile never leaving her face. As they walked down the hallway together, Katrina continued cheerfully: “Did you know that organized public education was invented by time traveling representatives of major United States, and Argentinean, soda companies? They thought it would be a good way to advertise.”

As Laurel opened the door to the classroom, however, she did not get a chance to respond. The Literature professor, Mr. Watson, gave the class president’s tardiness only a brief nod, but his response to Katrina’s entrance was more dramatic.

“Miss Novikov,” he said, “lost in space again? Heh. As this class focuses on Russian Literature, not science fiction, I expect a great deal more engagement with reality, do you understand? You can start with showing up on time—even if there is only a week of school left. Your university professors will not be so lenient as I.”

More than a few students tittered at what should have been her humiliation, but Katrina didn’t seem to hear them and took a seat near the back of the class.

Laurel, sliding into a seat nearer the front of the room, could not help feeling a twinge of pity for Katrina. Even if equal amounts of pride and self-satisfaction accompanied her fleeting moment of sympathy. She chanced a final, brief glance at Katrina, but the other girl was obliviously staring at the chalk board as if the classroom was non-existent.

Soon, though, Laurel forgot about Katrina all together.

Her final play for Atlas was this afternoon. It was going to be legendary.


 

Chapter 3

The production had been magnificent! Everything had gone right, without a single problem to note. The sold-out auditorium had given Laurel a ten minute standing ovation. They even threw roses on stage! It was the proudest, and last, glorious moment in her Atlas Academy life. And yet, Laurel Masterson could not describe herself as being anything other than plain old pissed off.

Father had missed it all.

Again!

“Mary,” she said to her Father’s receptionist, after storming into what she had always thought of as his antechamber, “I’m hear to see my Father.” Masterson Inc. occupied floors seven through nine of the Bank Seven building in downtown Los Angeles. It was a model for the lowers of corporate America to emulate.

“I’m sorry, Miss Masterson,” replied Father’s old receptionist, “but he’s in a meeting. It should be over soon, if you wouldn’t mind waiting?”

Laurel sighed, dropped her messenger bag onto the floor and slumped into the Italian leather sofa at the far end of the pretentious lobby. She imagined people scrambling through the halls outside, working to accomplish tasks she had no desire to understand. But Mary’s office stood as the entryway to the temple of Father’s office, and only the clicking of Mary’s long fingernails on her computer’s keyboard could be heard in this sacred space. She felt a sense of pity knowing that most of those worker bees out there would give anything to be in her shoes, sitting in this waiting room, on this sofa. Only the most important people involved in Masterson Inc. made it this close to Father.

The pity disappeared quickly, though.

She sat back, closed her eyes, and took a few deep breaths. Laurel didn’t want to go into Father’s office angry. He always acted so cheerful and loving. It was like he didn’t understand that she wanted to be angry with him, like he couldn’t comprehend the fact that he had done something to hurt her feelings. All that mattered to him consisted of this month’s payroll or tomorrow’s big meeting in Paris. When it came to his daughter, though, Father just failed to see what the big deal was. It hadn’t always been that way…

She shook the thought off before it could form completely.

Her mind wandered. Like after most of her productions, for a day or two, her mind and body seemed to let out a sigh of relief and she allowed her mind to wander. She thought about Kai—in the rare moments she wasn’t worried about wardrobes or lightings or what could go wrong in Act II, scene 3, her mind often wondered to Kai—and the Atlas Academy. After six years there, it felt strange that she was leaving. Her whole life had gone into that school. She thought of all the plays she put on, and all the people who looked up to her. She thought of Sophie and her professors. She even thought of Katrina Novikov and wondered what she day-dreamed about now that high school was over.

The fact that she was thinking about Katrina Novikov helped her realize how long Father had kept her waiting. She lifted her head to whine at Mary and almost screamed. Father, in his gray business suit, stood in front of her smiling.

“Hey, Peach,” he said.

“No way!” she responded, standing up. “You don’t get to ‘Peach’ me. Not today.”

“What? Why wouldn’t I get to ‘Peach’ my Peach?”

“Uck! Father, do you have any idea why I’m here?”

“Sure I do. Don’t think I forgot about you play—see? I bet you thought I forgot. I’m really sorry, Peach, but I had an important, last minute, business meeting and I couldn’t get out of it. But that’s okay. I sent one of the new temps to video tape it for me. He’s really good—or so I hear. I plan on watching it tonight on the plane.”

“That doesn’t count, Father!”

“I hate when you call me that, Peach. Call me Dad.”

“No! I wanted you to go to the play. I asked you months ago! Did you even have an inkling that it was my last production at Atlas? I bet—” She stopped herself. There was no point in getting mad at Father no matter how infuriating he could be.

“How about I take you out for ice cream to make it up to you, Peach?”

“No, Fath—Dad. Maybe if you hadn’t kept me waiting for an hour, but… Just forget it. I don’t actually expect you to understand. I have to get home, anyway. I’m supposed to be meeting with the head of the UCLA theater department tomorrow and I want to write down some questions so I don’t forget.”

“And why would you be meeting with the head of the UCLA theater department, Peach?” Father asked. Was she imagining it, or did Laurel hear a dangerous tone to his voice?

“Because the drama department starts production of their first play before the Fall semester and I have to know all the details so that I can be a part of it. I am, after all, supposed to be the assistant director.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? I mean, won’t that get in the way of your school work?”

“What are you talking about, Dad? That is my school work!”

“I’ve been to business school, honey, and I never had to direct a play.”

“Oh my god. We’ve been over this a hundred times! I’m not going to major in business! I’m going to major in drama and follow in my mother’s—”

“Firstly, please don’t mention her. I know how you get when you talk about her, and I just don’t want us to digress into one of those conversations today. And secondly, I thought we decided that you were going to major in business and take over Masterson Inc?”

“What? We never said—”

“In fact,” Father said. The loving tone vanished from his voice completely. This was the man employees and clients of Masterson Inc. had to deal with daily. “I’m pretty sure we talked about how, if you didn’t major in some form of business that I wouldn’t pay your tuition—”

“—I received a full academic scholarship anyway so—”

“—or… your living expenses.”

“But… Dad! That’s so—I can’t afford to pay for my own apartment! I’d have to get a job and I wouldn’t be able to doing any extra curricular—”

“I guess that’s just the way things are, then, aren’t they?”

She gazed in disbelief at Father, his face stern. She looked to Mary, pleadingly, as if she could do something to change Father’s mind. Mary had been staring at them both, but when she noticed Laurel glaring in her direction, the secretary quickly remembered that she had some very important typing to do.

Laurel looked back at Father and took a deep breath. Then, in a sudden movement, she turned, slung her messenger bag over one of her shoulders, and stormed out of the office without another word.


 

Chapter 4

Laurel Masterson detested any crying which didn’t occur on stage, especially if the tears were her own.

Damn my eyes! she thought, butchering one of her favorite lines, trying to make herself feel better. It didn’t work. She fumbled for her keys and unlocked the door to what she had long considered “her apartment”.

Perhaps in an attempt to cover her despair and frustration, Laurel left the lights off, closed the door behind her, and stumbled into the dark but spacious living room. She sunk into her favorite leather sofa, fighting a losing battle against her tears. She cried only for a short time, however, before she dug out her technologically advanced (for now) cell phone, which Father had mailed to her for her birthday, and scrolled through her address book.

“Hmmm… let’s see… stage crew… lead actors… student council… oh, here’s Cynthia, under lighting…,” she muttered to herself. Just last week, Atlas’s former student director of the drama department and the sophomore lighting designer had met over coffee in order to discuss the final details of the scrim backlighting for Act 3.

Laurel pressed Cynthia’s name with her stylus, feeling a bit of panic as she heard the rings. For the first time in her teenage life, Laurel needed to talk to someone about something… other than her plays. The problem was, she had no idea how to go about it.

“Hello? Laurel?” Cynthia asked, a hint of confusion creeping into her voice.

“Yes… Hi, Cynthia,” stammered Laurel. “I… was wondering if… if you had a minute… to talk about… something.”

There was a pause, followed by a short laugh. “But the play’s over Laurel! We can’t making any lighting changes now! Relax, for Pete’s sake, you earned it!”

“No… that’s not what… what I was… thinking of really, it’s more… complicated and… um, involved.”

“Oh? Well, I’m not going to UCLA quite yet, so any future theater-related ideas will have to wait. I’m sure you understand… and also, dinner time, I kinda have to go now.”

“Oh… well, of course. I’m sorry to have interrupted,” answered Laurel, her voice a little too chipper. “I’ll talk to you later then?”

“Yeah, later… that’s great.” Cynthia said distractedly. “ Gotta go now, bye!”

Laurel gazed at the carpet as Cynthia hung up, listening to the dial tone for a few seconds before returning to the phone’s address book.

“Hmmm… oh! Here’s Sophie, under Media. She wanted to talk to me earlier today, at least,” Laurel commented to herself in a mournful whisper. She pressed Sophie’s name.

“Hello… Laurel.. it’s g… great to… to hear from you!” said Sophie, her shyness carrying over, even on the phone. That was something Laurel could fix… Could have fixed if she had been returning to Atlas next year, that is.

“Thanks, Sophie, I was… wondering if you had time to talk… for a bit,” managed Laurel, with a little more confidence.

“Oh! That’s great!” squealed the young freshman. Laurel smiled, and her mood brightened a bit. But before she could say anything, Sophie continued: “There were two quick questions I forgot to ask you today at our interview. Would… would you mind answering them now?”

Laurel’s smile melted.

“Well, maybe not now Sophie… I had something else in mind, actually… it might take longer than a few questions. And it’s something I wouldn’t want… printed in the school paper.”

“Oh? um… ok…,” replied Sophie, tripping over her words. “You know, I was going… I mean, on my way out to… er, for dinner. Maybe later?” By the final word, her voice had risen to a high squeak.

Laurel focused all her energy on preventing her own voice from cracking.

“Yeah, later. That’s… ok.”

“Ok, Laurel… I’ll s-see you at… at s-school. Monday? G-good-bye!”

Laurel inhaled deeply and wiped the tears from her eyes. There was someone else… she had been afraid to call him at first, but she was quickly running out of options. Not allowing herself to think about it further, she pressed Kai’s name.

“Laurel! Hey!” Kai said, sounding a bit perplexed. “Um, wow, there’s a surprise! We doing an extra performance or something?”

“No. Hi, Kai,” answered Laurel, immediately regretting the rhyme scheme of her words. “I wanted to talk to you about some… something not theater related.”

Even though she was unable to see him, Laurel sensed that Kai was taken aback.

“Er… you, know,” said Kai, quickly, “this really isn’t the best time, boss. I have dinner plans with the rest of… people, and I’m running late already.”

“Umm… but this is important, Kai. For me.” Laurel’s voice became more commanding, “I need you to stay on the line, for at least a few minutes. Who cares if you are a little late? Please, I need you to do this.”

Her now former assistant-director let out a sigh.

“Laurel, the play’s over. Hell, school’s pretty much over. I’m out from under your shadow now, boss. On set, I might have jumped every time you said the word, but that’s past, okay? I’m… done with your orders, and now I need to go. Good-night.” He didn’t wait for her to respond before hanging up.

This time, Laurel stared at the plush carpet for a full five minutes, not bothering to wipe away her tears. Throughout her time at Atlas, at least when she had thought about it, Laurel assumed that Kai admired her, even liked her, at least as much as she liked him.

“And why is everyone busy anyways?” Laurel thought aloud. “It’s late for dinner, really.” Then it hit her. All of them… they were meeting for dinner. Together.

Without her.

“Things are more fun without the boss,” hissed Laurel to the dark, empty room.

Resting her head against her hands, she sat perfectly still but for her shoulders softly shaking. When she raised her head again, Laurel’s eyes remained closed and her mind blank. Then, out of the blue, an idea came to her, one that she would never have produced via conscious thought: Katrina Novikov.

Who else could know what it was like to be this alone? And if her inane conspiracy theories proved anything, it was that Atlas’s looniest student would listen to anyone about anything. Well, listen was a bit of a stretch. She’d probably sit there staring at the wall, but at least she wouldn’t be… It also helped that Katrina worked in the same place where one could get ice cream.

Seeing no better option, and not having Katrina’s named filed under any activity in her address book, Laurel picked up her keys and headed for the door.

 

Chapter 5

Even crushed dreams could not remove the purpose from Laurel Masterson’s stride. Soon, she arrived at the Flavor Emporium. Right in the middle of everything, but never busy. Great ice cream. Strange but decent service. It was the best place to get ice cream this close to the sky-line.

Laurel felt somewhat comforted by the memories the shop invoked, and her mouth watered in response to the familiar ice cream aroma. The pleasant feelings vanished, however, when she realized that her best memories at the Flavor Emporium had not only occurred when she was much younger but also when she had been with Father.

Laurel sighed and rested her hand on the bar across the door. She hesitated, reconsidering her plan. Why would Katrina be any different than the rest of the people she knew from Atlas? Hadn’t Laurel been rejected enough times tonight?

As she often did while under duress, Laurel began talking to herself. “I bet even Atlas’ foremost conspiracy theorist got an invite to the ‘Let’s-Ditch-Laurel’ end of the year celebration.”

Laurel considered turning back for a moment, then sighed.

“Well, even if Katrina isn’t here,” muttered Laurel, as she opened the door, “at least ice cream’s been a good friend in the past.”

The dim lighting, the hum of freezers, and the eruption of cold air were all refreshing. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. But no sooner had she formed the thought that Laurel realized that something was missing from the Flavor Emporium.

Noise.

People.

Not one customer sat in the in the cheery, albeit dilapidated, ice cream parlor.

“That’s strange,” she whispered, surveying the empty tables, “closing time’s not for another two hours.” There wasn’t even an employee at the counter ready to greet her. “Maybe the Flavor Emporium wage-slaves were all invited to dinner as well. It would figure tha—” She heard something coming from the back room. Her unease melted away into… relief? Perhaps Katrina was still here, cleaning up in back.

Of course. Had she really been afraid just now?

She walked to the door.

“Stupid little ditz,” shouted a male voice, from behind the door, “think she’s special, but what does day dreaming on the job get you now, huh? I think you’ll like what it gets you!”

Laurel froze, mind going blank.

She stood, silent, and waited.

Soon she heard:

“Do you know what happens now, do you?” bellowed a second, deeper, voice.

Laurel’s mind reactivated. Obviously Katrina Novikov was in trouble, but…what kind? The last part… sounded like it could be her boss…

Should she call the police?

Laurel slowly reached her hand down her side and.. damn! She’d left her messenger bag, along with her cell phone back in her apartment. Scanning the parlor, she couldn’t spot a phone.

Must be in the backroom, she thought to herself ruefully.

Laurel felt pulled in two very different directions. She wanted to see what was happening, make sure there really was a problem. However, she also wanted to run, go call the police from somewhere else… To get away.

But then Laurel heard crying.

It might be Katrina, but even if it wasn’t...

Her inherent instinct to meddle took over. Laurel tiptoed to the door, planning to open it just a bit, get a peak, maybe it was nothing… The old door, however, had other plans. As she pushed it open, the rusty metal hinges that held it to the frame announced her presence with a resounding squeak. Laurel froze as two tall and muscular men turned in her direction.

And there was Katrina, in a corner. Tears, as well as blood, streaked her face.

The huddled girl looked up at the door—at Laurel.

“Laurel!” Katrina’s voice quivered, but also seemed eerily calm. “I would highly recommend vacating the premises immediately. Now would be best.”

Laurel’s eyes widened as the taller of the two men moved toward her, and Laurel knew she wouldn’t have time to escape. A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over her. Bright white lights edged into her periphery vision.

Laurel wondered why, even with all the actors she'd directed and roles she’d played, she had never imagined that terror would feel like this.